Roses Red as Blood
by ghost-orchid
Summary: PreBlade 2. Reinhardt and the murder of his mother.


**Author's Note: **I do not own any character or characters from _Blade II._

**Summary: **This is a one-shot that fills in a little of Reinhardt's backstory, namely the murder of his mother by his father. What was he like before that? How did it produce the man we all know and love? You decide. This is also the first fanfic that I've posted here.

Roses Red as Blood

The Reinhardt summer home was located in the foothills of the Eastern Alps overlooking Vienna, a sprawling stone castle that had been built by the first vampire overlord in the thirteenth century and had suffered haphazard additions by each new overlord until it was a nightmare mix of architectural styles. Like the vampires themselves, it had endured the onslaught of the ages none the worse for wear and looked much the same in the year of our Lord 1921 as it had the day its contruction was finished. On clear nights Dieter Reinhardt could stand on the flagstone terrace and look at the lights of the city. It suited him, suited the entire family, in fact, to be able to look down upon the human city which they ruled. His father, Stefan Reinhardt, was the current vampire overlord of Vienna. Dieter hated him and his father returned the sentiment. The only reason he stood in his father's house at the moment was his mother. In his father's absence, he made the drive from the city to insure that she was well. He turned slightly and took a few steps to the left. There she was--tending her roses in the light of torches. "Mama," he called out to her, "why do you insist on growing those? People say they're not at their best at night."

Liesl Reinhardt straightened up from her kneeling position and smiled at her son. It was an oft-heard refrain from him. Why did she care so much about a form of life that needed the heat of the sun for survival, when that same heat was lethal to her? Perhaps she had no explanation other than the beauty of the blooms and her need to see growth come from the earth. Perhaps it was some twisted way of making amends for the humans she and her kind supplied to fill the cemeteries. Even though she was a pureblood born of purebloods, she had a tender heart and had never seen humans merely as cattle. Killing, necessary as it was, disturbed her. This attitude she kept strictly to herself. It was not fitting in the wife of an overlord. "Because beauty pleases me, liebling. But you know that already, so why ask?"

He laughed and descended the stone steps into her garden. His mother was well over seven hundred years old, a scion of the now-extinct von Sepper clan, but she kept the appearance of a young woman. On those rare occasions when she ventured into the city, she was careful to use makeup and wigs to look like a woman much older. The Reinhardt clan kept to itself as far as human society went, but suspicions arose easily in them. Tonight, though, she wore her normal look, auburn hair coiled tightly into a coronet atop her head, flawless white skin that would never know a wrinkle, and the crystal green eyes that were her son's only resemblance to her. In every way but those eyes, he was his father's son. In time, when his father stepped down, he would be the new overlord of Vienna, but most likely that would not be for another hundred years, at least. Stefan was jealous of his power, a cold, cruel man given to unpredictable fits of rage whom every vampire under his rule feared. Dieter often thought that included his mother. He had never seen any violence aimed at her by his father, but that might be because his father knew how he would respond to it. "Have you been well?"

"Since last night? Yes, I have. Dieter, you really have no need to come here every night to check on me while Stefan is away. Your father's guards are more than capable of protecting me from a threat. Not that I dislike seeing you, of course, but do you not have things you would enjoy doing more than spending time with me? Perhaps finding a wife?"

He gave a sigh of half-disgust, half-amusement. "Are you on about that again? Mama, I'll find a woman for myself when I'm ready. You and Father are still capable of children, so there's no need to worry about the succession yet. Plus, I'm a young man. Not to be indelicate, but I am having a good time as a bachelor. I'll only marry when I find a woman like you." One of the reasons he had not married yet, unknown to his family and the rest of the vampire community, was that he felt little romantic or sexual attraction to the pureblood females who were candidates for marriage to him. They struck him as cold, empty, and endlessly opportunistic. It was what he expected from women as high-ranking as he was, but he didn't enjoy it. He would do his duty by the family and wed one of them, but he wanted to put off that day for a while. The only women who had awakened real desire in him were human females. Dieter took great care to hide this fact, going so far as to have brief affairs with certain married pureblood females whose husbands were tame enough to see it as an honor done them. While the vampire world would see his preference as only a minor perversion, which would be perfectly acceptable if he drained them afterward or turned them, if word got out that the overlord's heir regularly slept with human females without killing them, it would reflect on his father. Stefan would then try to kill him, of course, and Dieter had no wish to be forced to kill him. Not because of any filial devotion, but because it would upset his mother.

Liesl's expression turned troubled. "You may be too choosy, liebling. When I was married, it came about because my parents wanted an alliance with Stefan's parents. We barely knew each other before the ritual. Your generation has so much more freedom than we ever had. You can choose any eligible pureblood in Vienna, or in Europe for that matter. If you want, you can go to America and look for a wife. I must make sure you have someone before too long."

"Why the urgency? Has Father said something?"

She shook her head. "He has said very little to me in recent years."

Dieter knew his parents' marriage was not good. As far back as he remembered, they had been distant from each other, but more on his father's part than his mother's. In the past year or two, he had heard rumors that his father was sleeping with another woman, a pureblood married to one of his counselors. He took no action because it was not his business. As much as seeing his mother's stoic mask pained him, he had to consider the politics of the situation. If he fought Stefan, he had to be prepared to become the overlord of Vienna and kill anyone who opposed him, as well as select a female from those available. It was selfishness, a desire to put off the day of choice a little longer while he dallied with his lovely humans, that caused him to keep silent. Besides, it was the way of those who lived hundreds of years to take other lovers outside marriage. No matter how vibrant the woman, how sophisticated the lover, after long years they palled and a new sensation was required. His mother's pain was nothing new to vampire women.

His mother continued. "But all this talk of marriage bores you. I can see that. So why do you not drive back into the city and make the most of the night? If, as you say, you have such a good time as a bachelor, I would not deny you happiness."

He smiled at her. "I suppose you'll be all right with the guards for one night. Father arrives tomorrow night, doesn't he?"

"Yes. Stefan's planning a celebration for his return. He very much wants you there. Will you come?"

"Of course, Mama. I would never want to disappoint Father." _Or give him an excuse to hurt you. _As the Vienna overlord, he set great store by the show of respect his underlings paid him. Missing his return party would be read as outright disrespect, worthy of punishment. "So I'll see you tomorrow night, then."

"Come by a little early. I plan to cut roses for the tables. I have some beautiful long-stemmed ones that have just come into blossom. You can help me, if you like."

"I'd like that." He teased her about her flowers, but he liked them, the sweet scent, the softness of the petals, the thorns that drew blood if one was not careful. Somehow they reminded him of his human females. She pressed one of her roses on him before he left, a luxurious bloom of pure white that he put in his lapel before driving back into Vienna and searching out a woman for the rest of the night. The one he found was named Greta, and she waited tables in a beerhall. She was not yet a prostitute, but he saw her future in her eyes. No respectable woman would have taken him to her lodgings on such a brief acquaintance, nor would one have responded with such passion to his touch, his kisses, his body. Greta ignited his desire with her skin, such thin pale covering for her inner workings. The blood pulsed under her skin, almost visible in its rivers to him. The throb of the artery in her neck tested his control as he slid his tongue over her throat and she moaned in pleasure, but he managed to bury his hunger within the lust, taking nothing from her but his own release. Afterward, while she slept, he left money on the bedside table and departed. His aroused bloodlust he satisfied with a street tough who tried to rob him and dumped the body in the alley when he was finished dining. It was almost dawn when he returned to his townhouse for the day's sleep. At least for these few hours he could forget his father and his destiny.

When he arrived, half an hour after sunset, the castle seemed oddly deserted. Stefan's guards made themselves inconspicuous very well, but he reached out with his vampire senses and determined that they were not there. His father must have returned because it was inconceivable that the guards would leave Liesl unprotected unless the order came from him. He stepped out of his car, a low-slung black roadster, and inhaled deeply. Blood, and lots of it. Somehow he doubted the party had begun already. Dieter put himself into a battle mindset at once. Possibly this was an attempt to kill Stefan and put another overlord in place. It had happened before. Reaching over to the passenger seat, he pulled out a katana that he had obtained in Japan during his travels in the previous century. It had been created to his specifications and bore a pure silver blade with just enough nickel for the needed hardness. For killing both humans and vampires, it had no equal. He did not unsheath it yet out of respect for his father. To bring a weapon into his home was an instant death sentence, but he was prepared to risk that. The broomhandle Mauser that was Dieter's preferred weapon rested snugly in a holster beneath his dinner jacket, loaded with silver bullets. It had been a few years since anyone had challenged him in combat, but he had an idea that ended tonight.

The front door was unlocked, a bad sign. He twisted the knob very slowly and it opened on a scene of carnage. Several of his father's guards had fallen in the entryway, blood painting the walls in a design that reminded him of the Expressionist school. The blood was bright, fresh, not more than an hour old, so the attack must have occurred around sunset. Keeping a careful eye on his surroundings, he bent to examine what was left of the body of one of the guards. He had no way of determining which one it was from the dust of the exploded corpse. Curious. The guard's gun had never left its holster. Even if the attackers had overpowered them with sheer numbers, the guards should still have put up more of a fight. Dieter proceeded to check the leavings of the slain guards and found it true of them all: not one had drawn a gun in defense of his life or his master. Based on this, he presumed that all the guards at the castle had proved useless as a defense and were dead. The sound of his sword unsheathing in the silence of the castle seemed as loud as cannonfire.

Since the attackers might still be here, he couldn't call out for either of his parents. If they were hidden, they wouldn't reply; if they were dead, they couldn't. He walked through the entry hall toward the grand ballroom, the place where Stefan normally held his parties. The blood on the floor created suction between the soles of his shoes and the floor, his each step tearing his foot free of the sticky liquid and making a squelching sound. He would search the castle from bottom to top for his enemies and any survivors. If his mother had been killed, he swore to La Magra that he would drink her murderer's blood.

The white-paneled door to the grand ballroom was decorated with bloody handprints, at least a dozen of them, and the brass knob still dripped with gore. Dieter used the tip of his sword to push it open. Several dozen candles lit the ballroom, all white and gold gilt, the dancing flames reflecting in the lakes of blood on the marble dance floor. More of the guards had died here. He pushed a severed arm out of the way with his foot and moved farther inside the room. A man's voice addressed him and he brought the blade up instinctively. "So. You're finally here."

It was Stefan, seated in a small gilt chair near the doors to the terrace, a bloodied sword across his lap. He held a brandy snifter in one hand, but the liquid inside was thicker than brandy. Slowly he brought it to his lips and drank, sighing with a connoisseur's delight at the rare savor.

Dieter lowered his sword only a fraction. "Father. Mama said the celebration wasn't for another hour. Seems to have started early, though." Looking around, he noticed his mother's roses in crystal vases along the length of the rosewood banquet table.

"Yes, son. This is a celebration. After all too many years, I have rid myself of almost all my enemies. That's a rare thing, to be without living enemies, a numinous state. I wonder how I shall endure such bliss."

No bodies in the entry hall or in the ballroom were anything besides Stefan's own guard. Was he drunk on the blood? Or simply insane? He cut into his father's ramblings. "Where's Mama? Is she still alive?"

Stefan gestured with the brandy snifter. "She's on the terrace, Dieter. Such a spectacle as this was not meant for her eyes."

Moving toward the doors, he kept his sword in a defensive position. Getting onto the terrace meant he had to pass his father, but if there was the slightest chance for his mother, it had to be done. For an instant he thought of Greta. She might be the last woman he ever touched. He was glad he had been gentle and taken his time, even if she never knew he was dead and would not cry for him. No one would ever cry for him. He dashed the thought away. Now was the time to make his soul cold. If he died tonight, he would take his enemies with him. "What happened here, Father? Where are your enemies?"

"Dead, I told you." Dieter would have to come within two feet of Stefan's chair to get to the terrace doors. No sound reached him from the space outside. Liesl might be hurt, unable to cry for help. "Almost all of them."

He was a big man, but he moved with the grace of a lion. His father kept his seat, seeming unconcerned with anything but the taste of the blood in his glass, eyes focused on its wine-darkness, the sword in his lap forgotten. Not for an instant did Dieter lower his guard. His enemy was here, in this room, but he needed to see the extent of Stefan's madness. The french doors bore only a single smudge of blood on the pristine curtains that shielded the terrace from view. With a quick, jerky motion, he flung the door open and stepped through.

She lay there on the flagstones in her beaded black gown, sprawled out, a fountainhead of blood. Her hair had come down from its careful coronet and hung over her face in a gore-soaked sheet. The sword thrust had taken her near the heart, but she still lived. Dieter's eyes locked on one of her hands, outstretched and pale, the fingers slightly curled in toward her palm. The basket that she had used to put her cut flowers in lay several feet away, long-stemmed roses still inside. Her chosen roses had been a deep, rich red, the color of the blood which had spilled from her, the blood smell that clogged his nostrils. He knelt, careless of the blood, and brushed the hair from her face. Her mouth and eyes were wide open in the horror of death. Her lips moved. He could read the words: "Dieter, run." Then her eyes lost the life-spark and she crumbled to dust under his hands. _I should have stayed here, _he told himself. _I should have been here to protect her, not lying with that human woman. This is my guilt. I accept it. But never again. My life is battle; my heart is death._

"If you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself," said Stefan from behind him. Only his reflexes enabled him to get the sword up to protect his back before his father's sword came down. It was a powerful blow and Dieter was off-balance. Had he been human, the blow would have broken his shoulder. As it was, he was knocked over his mother's corpse to land in the blood between her and the flower basket. The sword still vibrated from the assault, but it remained in his hand. Stefan advanced, sword up, ready to put an end to his line. For an instant Dieter thought to draw his Mauser and end his father's life here and now, but he decided against it. A bullet was too quick, too clean. Stefan would suffer. In the name of his mother, by La Magra, he swore it.

"You have your mother's eyes." With a rush of speed Stefan reached him, bringing his blade down in a mighty blow designed to end the fight at once. Dieter parried it, still on his knees, then aimed a kick at his father's knee. The leg gave way and the older man hit the ground, his pale suit soaking up the red.

Rising to his feet, Dieter tried to knock the sword away from Stefan, but he was too quick and seized the saber. "I'll make this quick if you stop fighting. I wouldn't have your blood mingling with that of my mother."

"Then kill yourself, boy, because that's all you have in you, our blood. The von Seppers were nothing; her blood was weak, and if I didn't know better, I would have believed her a human. She cared about killing. But you're my son, Dieter. I can trust you to be overlord. I can trust you to kill."

"Only you, father." He moved in like a buzzsaw, but Stefan was ready. He had had much more practice dueling with swords than his son, but Dieter had the motivation of his dead mother and the merciful coldness in his soul. Their blades rang from blocked blows, the sound coming so rapidly it seemed to be one long sound. Stefan's sword penetrated his guard and cut a deep furrow into Dieter's left side. His sword flew out of his hand and he went to one knee, panting. The older man sighed with satisfaction as he saw the blood begin to soak through the white linen of his shirt and began raising his sword to strike off his son's head. His distraction at that instant was his undoing. Dieter rolled for his sword and brought it up sharply at Stefan's unprotected hands. The katana sliced through bone like butter. For just an instant he looked down at his severed hands, as his sword fell onto the flagstones with a clang. Then Dieter was on him, maddened yet cold, twisting his head to the side as he sank his fangs into Stefan's jugular vein. Life's essence flooded his mouth and it made him dizzy with its power. Never had he killed another vampire to drink. But might it be that the sweetest blood comes from the predator himself? He sucked greedily at the salty fluid and felt his father's existence slipping away with his every breath, his heels drumming the floor in a reflexive convulsion. The blood began to falter and he shook Stefan's head with his teeth like a terrier. When he was sure he had drained every drop, he let the body fall. Only then did he draw his Mauser and put a bullet into his father's head. The corpse glowed with the chemical reaction to silver, then dissolved into a heap of ash to be blown away on the wind.

Dieter knelt there for a few moments, collecting himself. Unreal--everything seemed unreal. He knew he had to notify the council of what had happened, so that the transition from old overlord to new would be smooth, but he had something else to do first. Lazily he lifted his hand to his face and began to lick Stefan's blood from his fingers. He always kept his promises.


End file.
